


Angel of Death

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Guardian Angel, S3B Finale Spoilers, Sad, angel of death - Freeform, bioquake, can be read as, inspired by The Book Thief, no new MCDs, only the MCDs that have already happened, or - Freeform, skimmons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time their paths crossed was in a village in China. Soul by surrendering soul, the world washed out to grey, but this tiny, young thing became a bright jewel, and the Angel smiled. </p><p>(But she could not stand against Time forever).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel of Death

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an idea about the line "where-ever she goes, death follows", and The Book Thief, and while I wish I could say it got as far out of hand as it wanted to, I do very much have an exam tomorrow I must get back to prepping for. This idea and a wide variation upon it are free to a good home. I'm theclaravoyant on tumblr too if you want to drop in and chat about it.

"I am haunted by humans."

\- _The Book Thief_ , Marcus Zusak.

-

The first time their paths crossed was in a village in China. It was very provincial, with a handful of modern amenities through it like a patchwork, and more provinciality sprinkled on top. The village had a small population – Angels of Death, like herself, rarely ever passed through – but this time, she had her work cut out.

Some, she managed to pluck from their bodies before they had time to suffer from the brutal wounds that had been inflicted. Some she got to as soon as she could, soothing their pain, whispering them away. But there were only so many she could help at a time, and so many others were left languishing, clinging to their last threads of life as they waited for her to come and set them free. They had died bravely, they had gone down fighting. She hoped they knew – they tended to find comfort in that. 

And then there was one, one brave little thing, whose heart was still glowing. Her soul was a soft blue, like an early morning sky, and it was so beautiful, the Angel found herself wondering when the day would come to take it – but Time left the child be. The day to take her was not today. This soul had many colours to add to her tapestry before she passed. 

Soul by surrendering soul, the world washed out to grey, but this tiny, young thing became a bright jewel, and the Angel smiled. The pull of Time that called her to collect the ending souls released. The world – at least as far as this village was concerned - became itself again, and the Angel was called away.

- 

It was years later when the Angel saw the sky-soul again. Her colour was richer now, and interrupted a little with the soft purple of sunsets. She had grown, a little battered, but stronger now. Lost, but passionate. 

The sky-soul wanted to stay, and the Angel found herself staying too. There were others who would continue her work. Let her, for once in a few human lifetimes, slow down to observe. 

(And the first thing she observed was the sky-soul’s name.)

-

For a long time, they had peace. The threads of Time that wrapped around Skye and her team sometimes quivered and warped and were pulled taught, but the Angel kept their hearts beating, kept their lungs breathing, kept their souls alight. Sometimes, it was exhausting work, but she was beginning to love them – not as visitor loves a town, or a person loves a gift. She was beginning to love them like they loved each other. Like a human. 

(But she wasn’t supposed to learn their names – and it didn’t take long to remember why.)

The Angel had tied and retied the strings of Time, stretched and plucked and shook them, to keep them away, but like waves being pulled back out to sea, they always came back stronger. Hungrier. For a while she thought she’d just have to fight harder and she’d keep Time at bay, at least long enough for her favourites (selfish, yes, but true) to be ready for their passing. 

 _Mortality,_ she realised one day, was a frightening thing. As an Immortal, she had never deeply contemplated it, but it seemed it was indeed possible for even her to be defeated by Time. 

The first defeat came in a flash of bright, blinding orange. In an instant, the Angel felt her peace snatched away. For the first time, as she bore the orange soul away, she felt herself responding to death with the same emotions she had once observed with fascination. Guilt was the overbearing one, and disbelief. Perhaps she did not feel them as powerfully as the mortals did, though, because she could only watch as red and purple bled into Skye’s blue. 

(She had wondered what those discolourations were from. Pain. Suffering. Was it only grief, or death, or was it all pain? Suddenly, the Angel was struck by the realisation that this was a question to which she may, finally, not want the answer.) 

The lines of Time were not done with them yet, though. She felt them wrap around the imploding, hurting Skye – was it her time after all? Worry: another of the human’s emotions for which she had never had much cause before all this. The Angel wished she could be seen, or somehow deliver a warning. That was the problem with slowing down: a concrete form had concrete limitations.

But even trapped in incorporeal silence, she was able to watch Skye pick herself up – save herself. Still, the tingling didn’t go away. Lives had to end. The balance had been disrupted for too long. This group was already an anomale, she knew, by Skye, and by the bright golden scar across the grey soul, and by the Angel’s own constant fighting back of Time’s greedy hands.

Time came for them again, soon. When the ocean-coloured one blew in a window, the Angel wondered if Entities could be vindictive, if Time was hoping to strike them while they were down. She wondered if this was how humans felt when people died for them. She wished she could clutch his soul and hold it to him, but as soon as she touched it, he’d be gone.

(His name was Fitz. But she wasn’t supposed to know that.)

 _DON’T TAKE HIM,_ she shrieked, and battled Time harder than she ever had as the colours of the souls around him bruised and bled his colours into theirs.

He woke. 

She won.

(This time.)

-

The roof fell down around them and she watched, and waited. The ocean soul was safe. The golden grey, and the pearl, safe. The sunflower pair – one petals, one seeds - safe. She wasn’t sure of the gunmetal one; he was not ending but not alive either. And remaining was only the garnet, the navy and Skye. 

And then she felt it. 

Now, the Angel had always taken her work seriously, always aware that humans tended to take it personally. But now she understood why. 

 _Take somebody else,_ she wanted to demand, but who? She didn’t have the right, or the power to say. 

 _Not like this,_ she wanted to plead, but the deal was done. Digging his soul out of the rubble was all that was left to do. And she cried while she did it, she wept for his loss and for the bruises it left on the other coloured souls. She wondered, if she had not settled down, could she have protected him from Time? Could she have been fast enough? To beat an Entity? Never. If she had not settled, she would never have known him. She would never have chosen him. He could have been gone a long time ago, and so could everybody else here. 

She sighed, and wondered if other Angels ever wished to give up their mantles. 

- 

After he was gone, she still saw that rich navy blue sometimes. It heartened her most when she saw that sometimes, what she thought was a bruise in their souls, was a piece of his that had taken root there. She hoped he would be happy to know that, and to know that she had managed to fend Time off quite successfully for a while now.

She could not stop their pain and failure. Those were not her domain. She could not make them change, or see the truth, but she could do this for them. Mostly. For a while. 

(And sometimes, she wondered doing so might _force_ Death into taking away her wings. Sometimes she wanted it so badly she would have killed Time if she could. Other times, she feared it, and wandered away from the ocean soul and Skye. The sky-soul. She was supposed to forget. She was never supposed to have known that name. There were reasons. There was loss, coming for her and the ones she protected, whether she knew their names or not. She was only an Angel, not an Entity. She could not stand against Time forever.)

-

 _Someone on our team is going to die._

It was hard to feel a failure coming, as the itching strings of Time started weaving themselves through the team again. But it was some comfort (again, selfish, but true) to know that she was not alone it watching it come.

She pulled and pushed and swayed Time as if the very fate of the universe depended on it. First, she saved the dusky rose, and then the gunmetal soul. Dragged the ocean one back from Time’s clutches. For a while it was Skye – for a long while – and by now the Angel was starting to fumble and fall from exhaustion. Her physical form was weak, but even without it, she could not hold on. Had Death chosen now, of all times, to take her wings? Or was she simply burning out from fighting Time? Had she let this tiny blue jewel, this sky-soul (Daisy, now) bring down an Angel?

If the answer was yes, she realised, she would be glad for it.

_Just not yet._

With one last desperate surge, the Angel stretched her spirit across the timelines, and sliced through the strings of fate. Time, and even Death, screamed out against her and she was flung back into her physical self, restrained, helpless but to watch Time’s loose tails fly. 

Time must have laughed as it watched her fall, because once it had claimed him, it let her go. Its price was paid. Balance restored. (Her choice, such as it was, made. She should have known this was coming.) 

The Angel spread her tired wings, and collected him. 

His soul was the colour of sunlight. A little burnt in places, but it was the soft, lemon meringue colour that she would remember. This was the colour of his that bled into the other souls – but not, the Angel realised with a pang of what could only be described as _sorrow,_ as many other souls as he had deserved. She would have thought a light as gentle and bright as his would have lit them up, but instead, there was a little spark in the pearl and the ocean, and a swathe of it wiped across the now twilight sky, and that was all. 

This was not uncommon, when people died amongst strangers: great respect, appreciation, or guilt, were not enough; were not the right feelings to leave a mark on the soul. The Angel had simply been hoping that he had died amongst friends. 

She wished, as she laid him to rest, that she had taken the time to learn his name.


End file.
